I gathered the kids quickly, locked the dead bolt on the back door, hustled everyone out the front door, and then reached into my purse to make sure I had my keys before I locked the front door. As I hurriedly jumped in my front seat, I reached in my purse for those keys I had just felt, and when I found them I realized they were my spare keys to my truck—not the keys to my house. My heart sank as I began digging in my mess of a purse for my cell--then I realized I didn't have that either. It was surely with wherever my keys were. My day went from bad to worse just like that. I only had one set of house keys and of course no spare hidden in a safe place.
All day I had been wrestling with God. I was a single mom of three: 10, 7, and 4. I had recently moved and was struggling with mice—of all things, I do not do mice! My truck was in need of some major repair and barely creeping along, Christmas was only one week away and it was going to be our first Christmas alone. Only months before had I clearly felt the presence of God releasing me from a broken marriage wrought with abuse and infidelity. Why, if he had told me we would be okay alone, were we struggling? This was my argument with God all day on December 18th, 2011.
I tried the credit card trick because I had been quite successful at this in the past but to no avail. I really really did not know what to do next. As I sat in the driveway in my truck contemplating what to do next I argued more with God. We were on our way to church for a fellowship evening. There was maybe an hour left of daylight. Who was most capable and available to help me break in? Our vocational pastor was a full time police officer—surely he’d be skilled at break ins—but he also was not very available. As I thumbed through different men from church I couldn't come up with anyone that I just knew was the right person for the job. However, there was a man that had recently begun attending our church. I knew he was available because I was supposed to be his ride to church that evening. I was reluctant to ask him but I was feeling a little out of options and hope.
The first time I met Paul at church was November 6th when I ran into him in the hall, right by the bathrooms, and asked, “What are you doing?” (I’m not known for my suave) I was acquainted with Paul from a few years back—work related. I had also adopted his dog, Dixie, about 6 months prior. My acquaintanceship with Paul started and ended there. We come from a very small, rural community—everyone knows everyone—somehow. Nonetheless, I was excited to see him. I was always excited to see guests at church. Our church was recently going through some growth and I was so excited to see it. That Sunday morning my family and I sat down in our usual pew to get settled. I noticed Paul was sitting on a pew that was usually empty; he was also alone. I waited a bit to see if anyone was going to join him. When I realized he was it and sitting on a lonely pew bench I gathered my bunch and we moved pews! I purposely sat several seats away from him and placed a few children between us. I was very modest and concerned about perception. This went on for a few weeks until I found out he was walking to church. The weather was turning and not always suitable for walking. The first time I offered to give him a ride to church, he refused. The next time—I didn't give him an option. I think it may have been a Sunday morning and I noticed the weather wasn’t very nice, I sent him a face book inbox that said, I would be there at 9. He later on told me, he wasn’t even planning on going that Sunday. I love how God works. Paul was attending church regularly, but I noticed he was very quiet and maybe a little shy. Paul was hearing impaired and I worried that he wasn’t comfortable or even worse, people weren’t comfortable with him. My nature is very much a “make everyone comfortable” one—so I began inviting and almost insisting he participate in the several fellowships we were having that holiday season. The first was a Thanksgiving Dinner, where I made him eat this delicious cracker dip and he nearly vomited it back up on me (that’s when I learned of his meat and potato, country boy palette), the next was a Christmas fellowship (I didn't force feed him anything this time--for fear of a repeat of the previous dinner), and last that season was the December 18th video night.
When I arrived to Paul’s house to pick him up for the fellowship I was consumed with fret. Mostly for prideful reasons—I wasn’t the kind of person that locked her keys AND cell phone in her house, and let’s say I did, I could usually get myself out of predicaments like this. Asking for help was not in my comfort zone. As I examined my options and realized there was only an hour of daylight left, I swallowed my pride and asked him if he could help me. Even though Paul was kind of hard to read and he rarely showed much exaggerated emotion—he was very kind and always so gentleman like. I wasn’t surprised when he eagerly accepted my plea for help.
I decided to leave my kiddos at church so at least they could enjoy the evening—I had successfully ruined mine and Paul’s the way I saw it. Paul worked feverishly to break in. Even he couldn’t get the credit card trick to work (made me feel a little better and a little less sucky). Paul was working up a sweat and I was racking up the guilt. However, the whole time he was attempting a break in and running into obstacles, he remained incredibly level headed. Not once did I see him react out of impatience of frustration—I honestly did not know how to respond to that. The previous men of my life would have had several choice words by now and expressed exasperation at the situation. I think Paul’s lack of curse words and temper made me feel even guiltier about putting him in this situation. I convinced myself I had ruined his evening. Out of desperation Paul decided he would have to drill a hole in my window in order to push the lock open. I think he could see the look of fear in my face when he said that—so he said, “Let me check the windows one more time.” Even though we both knew that he had checked all the windows multiple times and I had warned him I was a bit OCD about making sure that they were locked at all times. The sun had gone down and I was chilly, so I sat in the truck, and I couldn’t help but let the tears fall. I sat in my front seat crying uncontrollably when all of a sudden I noticed Paul standing in my open front door waving and wearing a huge smile that boasted, “I DID IT!” I was a little shocked. As I got out of the car I tried to remove all evidence that I had been crying and I joined him. I listened to him excitedly recount how he was able to get a window, which he knew was locked, open, as he escorted me to the kitchen window as to show off the miracle. Once in the kitchen I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I lost it—and guess what—if I wasn’t the person to lock her keys and cell in her house, I wasn’t the person to cry in front of people—especially strange men! Paul looked a little uncomfortable about this crazy woman crying uncontrollably, but he reached out and put his hand around my shoulder—I cried even harder. I can’t even tell you why I was crying. Maybe because my day had been rough on me, I felt a little broken that day. I was also beyond grateful for Paul. Not only had he saved my evening, he did it with a merry heart—for that I was indebted and impressed.
There weren’t a whole lot of words after that. I took Paul home, stopped for the kids, and then settled in for the night. Later that evening, after I had tucked all the kids in bed and had a few moments to regroup, I text Paul to say an extra thank you and I will never forget what he text back: It was kind of nice to be needed for once. That was it—I don’t think either of us slept that night—we stayed up until the wee hours texting about everything you could imagine. And that’s that—the story of when we first saw each other's hearts!
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